Six Strings
by Spooky-Girl
Summary: The first time he picked up a guitar was because of her. To see a part of her soul no one else did... R&R!


A/n and disclaimer : Um...yeah. I don't own the characters or the show. I own the song, and those chords are random. Anyway. This just sorta came to me, so...I wrote it? I'm not sure how I feel about it yet, but yeah, it's worth posting. Tell me what YOU think, we can come up with a consensus! ;)

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The first time I picked up a guitar, it was to better understand her. Music was such a big part of her life, so important to her, I just thought maybe it would help me see into a part of her soul no one else could.

It was in a pawn shop downtown. The guys and her were out seeing some movie, Space Somethings From Planet Wherever Attack. Something. We had plans to meet at the mall at six, when the movie was over, and I was just looking for a way to kill the hour I had left until then. I was checking out the record stores and thrift shops I didn't usually enter. I hadn't been looking for anything particular, really. Just keeping the usual eye out for anything unique, out of the ordinary, something new and original.

It was sitting in the back of the store, on a stand, but hidden in the corner, a large amp beside it. The amp was older, not in the best condition, but it only made the guitar stand out further. It was a sleek black Epiphone. I only knew the name because it was printed on the guitar. I knew nothing else.

I spent maybe two full minutes just staring at it, looking at the way the light shone off the finish. Then I stepped forward, and put out my hand to touch it.

"You like that, eh?" a voiced boomed, making me jump.

I looked up to find the source of the voice, a tall burly man with grey hair and a bushy beared.

"Uh...yeah, I think so," I replied, my gave wandering from man to guitar.

"That's a G-310," the man said, stepping from behind the counter. "Left handed."

I noticed that he was eyeing the hand I'd reached out to pick it up and quirked an eyebrow.

"Why don't you play it?" he said, nodding towards the instrument.

"I..I don't really play," I said, retracting my hand.

"You can always learn," he said. "Go on, give it a shot."

At his prodding, I gently lifted the guitar out of the stand and slid the strap over my neck, awkwardly holding the guitar around the neck.

The shop owner bent down and flicked the amp on. "What_ do_ you know?"

I tried to relax my grip, thinking. I'd seen her run her fingers over the chords a million times, almost absently, as she tried to think of songs.

Closing my eyes for a moment to focus on the memories, I thought. Opening them again, I looked down, carefully placing my fingers.

"Just a fair warning," I said. "This may not be pretty."

With a smile, the old man twirled a knob on the amp, adjusting the volume. "Go ahead, strum somethin', boy."

D

I checked the placement of my fingers and tentatively hit the strings with my thumb.

Sound burst forth, just loud enough not to disturb anyone else who might have been in the store. I felt a chill sweep through me as my body vibrated with the sounds.

I grinned a little and looked up at the man.

"Not bad," he said evenly. "Not great, but not horrible. More."

I coughed, suddenly a bit nervous, and switched my fingers.

G

Again, a downstroke and the rich sound of the chord.

"Okay, now string them together, actually strum," the man instructed pulling a pick from his pocket.. He handed it to me, and I wondered briefly what he knew about music.

I was a bit clumsy switching my fingers, but gripping the pick and alternating down and up was easier than I expected.

The man made a noise in his throat. "You played before?"

"No, not really," I replied, looking at the guitar in my arms.

"Hm. You may be a natural then," the man said, not seeming used to giving out compliments.

I thought for a moment, tentatively asking, "How much?"

A grin broke out on his face. "You're hooked, ain't ya, kid?"

I again raised my brow. "Depends on how much it costs, doesn't it?"

He never lost the smile.

"It ain't a cheap guitar," he finally said, looking thoughtful.

I nodded, pulling the strap over my head and gently setting it down in the stand.

"It's been sitting here for a while," he said. "Been waiting for the right person to pick it up."

I nodded, smirking. "How much?"

"Normally? Couple hundred," the old man said.

I nodded knowingly.

"But for you, I'll make a deal," he said suddenly.

I raised my eyebrows.

He looked at me, sizing me up with wise eyes. I folded my arms and stared him back down.

"Hundred bucks," he stated. "Even. Low as I can go."

I looked at him, then back down at the guitar. Reaching into my back pocket, I pulled out my wallet.

"You take credit cards?"

The old man smiled and nodded. "Sure do, Kid."

Thanks, Mom. Thanks, Dad.

I left that day with a guitar case in one arm, an amp in the other, and a grin on my face. I carried them home and set them in my room, reluctant to leave them, but knowing I had to meet my friends soon.

From then on, I was on a mission to learn to play. I bought a book of all the different chords and memorized them. I learned to read TAB and got the music to dozens of different songs on the internet. I practiced for hours every day, and soon my fingers were flying surely across the frets. At first my fingers were so sore I thought they might bleed, but I soon developed callouses that made steady playing painless.

Through all of it, none of my friends knew.

I wasn't sure at first why I had kept it a secret, but after the opportunity presented itself, I knew exactly what I had to do.

"You guys gonna check out open mic night?" I asked at lunch one Friday.

We were all sitting around a table talking and lamenting over how the last periods of the day dragged by at a crawl.

"Why? Who's playing?" Lily asked.

"No one special," I replied. "I just thought maybe we could all meet there."

"Sounds good," Robbie replied, tossing me a sideways glance.

"Group activity," Ray mused jokingly. "I don't know."

"Oh, come on, Ray, it'll be fun!" Lily said shoving him.

"Okay, I'm in," he surrendered, smiling.

I almost changed my mind then, but steeled myself. "Cool. Meet you there at seven?"

They all nodded in the affirmative, and I took a deep breath, beginning to get nervous. I was never the nervous type. I didn't care what anyone thought of me.

Tonight was different. I still could care less what the crowd at Mickey's would think. But now I cared what she would think.

I didn't want to be the cliched rocker boy, so I kept my usual blue jeans and a blue collared shirt, and left early to gt my guitar set up before my friends showed up.

I stored it by the stage and sat down to wait for them to arrive. When they did, we sat back, relaxed, and drank some smoothies, listening to the latest acts, some of which were good, and others which made us want to cover our ears.

Which would I be? I had to wonder as the girl on stage finished her song and took a jovial bow.

"I'm gonna go get a refill," I said, standing up as she left stage. "Be right back."

They nodded, discussing the girl's song. Lily and Robbie loved it. Ray thought it was too whiney.

I wiped my sweaty palms on my jeans as Mickey lowered the house lights and darkened the stage. I shot him a grateful look as I lifted the guitar strap over my head and settled it across my chest.

Climbing onto the small stage, I took relief in the fact that I could see the audiences faces in the dim light, but they could not see mine. It wasn't too crowded, but I could only focus on her face, so I might have missed a few details.

I made a few adjustments to the amp on stage and plugged in.

I cleared my throat before stepping up to the mic.

"This is my first time playing in front of anyone but my mirror," I said softly, which got a few laughs. "So I hope you enjoy it."

I saw her face scrunch up thinking, and saw Robbie break out in a grin. Ray raised an eyebrow, turning to smack Robbie's arm in questioning.

Holding her gaze though she couldn't see my eyes, I began to play. The music poured smoothly from the amp, my fingers flying over the strings, playing a soft, repetitive intro before breaking off into a more steady melody. I knew the chords so well I didn't need to glance at the frets or the placing of my fingers, or even recite them to myself. F, A, E, A, D, C, A, C, F, A, A, E.

As I began to sing, the stage lights went on, revealing me to the audience.

"One look in your eyes,

And I'm losing myself.

One touch of your hand,

My pain disappears.

The thought of your kiss,

Makes my mind spin.

Through all of this,

I've been there for you.

Holding your hand,

When you're scared or alone.

Wiping away your tears,

When you hurting

Deep down inside.

Through all of this,

I have loved you more

Than I could ever believe .

And I watched you go,

Day to day, never seeing,

The way I saw through you,

To the you you hide away.

Open your eyes,

Open your mind,

Open your heart,

And let me touch your soul."

I played the last of the song, repeating the intro before giving one last sweep over the strings and letting the music fade out as the strings stopped reverberating.

I was met with cheers and applause, but none of it registered, and none of it mattered, because when I looked out into the audience, she had this serene smile on her face, and this peaceful look in her eyes.

I smiled and stepped back, surveying the crowd once before I walked off stage and set about putting my guitar back safely in it's case.

I felt a hand on my shoulder, and stood up, turning around.

"You never told me you played guitar, Travis," she grinned at me.

"I never told you a lot of things," was all I could reply.

"Wanna tell me over coffee?" she said, still grinning. "I know a place."

"Sure," I nodded, lips quirking upward. "I'd love that."

"Me too," she said. "Me too."


End file.
